


whatever our souls are made of

by PoppyRocks



Series: how much the heart can hold [1]
Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Drunken Kissing, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Masturbation, fast then slow burn, no drunk sex though!, sort of. it's not explicit. yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-05-29 20:05:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15080717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoppyRocks/pseuds/PoppyRocks
Summary: "Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”― Emily Brontë, Wuthering HeightsMaxine and Elliot have fallen into the easy routine of their friendship, but maybe an unexpected kiss can start them down the road to something new.





	1. chamomile tea and cinnamon whiskey

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, all! this is the first story in what is going to be a series cataloging my many loves in SDV--brought to you by Kraken and my own weird experience at a frat house halloween party. Also brought to you by a complete lack of supervision. No professors or mentors to say, "Hey, do you really think you need all those semi-colons and dashes in there?"

It wasn't unusual for Elliot to find Maxine in his cabin late at night. She spent her mornings on her farm, then came into town to run errands and chat with the citizens of Pelican Town. She once confessed to him that the time she spent socializing was really the only break she allowed herself during the day. At the end of the day, she would walk down to the beach to fish. Then, finally, she would let herself into his cabin for a cup of tea. She had even brought her own mug, which he kept on his writing desk—waiting for her. Often, he would come home from the Saloon to find her fixing them both a fresh cup. Her lumpy, handcrafted mug (a gift from Leah) fit right in with the cabin. His own tea cup and saucer looked out of place in the rustic fishing shack, but Elliot thought the combination of his and hers was charming. Even on nights when he came home late, he could sense her presence—the smell of warm tea and Maxine's own unique parfum (a darkly-sweet honey scent and the clean, shampoo smell of her hair) lingered. It wasn't a strong smell when he was with her. He had only caught it during rare close encounters. Once, she had suddenly leaned forward to pick a piece of seaweed out of his hair; another time, he had come home just as she was leaving, and they bumped into each other in the doorway. But, once she was gone, it was all he could focus on, lying in bed waiting for sleep to take him.

That night, he had stayed at Gus's until closing; he and Leah had been discussing the effects of an artist's environment on their work. It was a topic that neither could resist, and they polished off plenty of wine while they talked.

Elliot was so late that he was sure Maxine had come and gone, leaving only a recently washed mug and her tempting scent. He leaned heavily on the door as he stumbled in; he couldn't believe how much he had let himself drink. He was not a man prone to drunkenness. It was a relief and a disappointment that Maxine wouldn't be there. At least that way he couldn't embarrass himself.  


Elliot closed the door and began the laborious task of untying his shoes with clumsy fingers. Looking up he realized that the cabin was washed in the warm glow of lamp light. He hummed cheerfully to himself as he shed his coat and pulled his tie loose. It was unusual for Maxine to forget anything—she was painfully conscientious. It sent a thrill through him to think that he was the only one in Pelican Town that she felt comfortable enough to impose upon for tea (as if her presence could ever be an imposition; she was universally adored by everyone in town). It was a ridiculous thing to be proud of, but it was his secret joy, regardless.

Despite his drunkenness, Elliot had the presence of mind to fold his jacket. He slipped his tie from around his neck and undid the top few buttons of his shirt, but found the task too demanding for one hand. He went to drape the jacket and tie across the back of his desk chair and stopped.  
Sleeping softly at his desk was Maxine. Her head was resting on her left forearm, which was draped across the desk. Her shoulders marked the rise and fall of her breathing. The light of the oil lamp cast a warm glow across her face; her cheeks were sun-kissed despite the early Spring chill. A cold, half-drunk mug of tea sat next to her.  


The scene set Elliot's heart racing. It was a perfectly innocent tableau, but he also couldn't help but notice her slightly parted lips, the vulnerable stretch of her exposed throat, her long lashes curled softly away from her cheeks. There was a sense of surreality to it all; he had been so sure that Maxine would not be there that her very real presence was illusory. 

Elliot had been struggling with his feelings for Maxine for as long as she had lived in the Valley, but he could barely even admit it to himself and had never even hinted that he might have even an inkling of a crush to Maxine. They had been fast friends—how could they not be? Maxine moved to Pelican town after finishing her PhD in English Literature. Mayor Lewis, upon learning this fact, all but shoved her into Elliot’s path. He even instituted the Stardew Valley Book Club, which consisted of exactly five members: Mayor Lewis, Penny, Abigail, Elliot, and the ever-polite Maxine. Mayor Lewis had been right, though. After escaping the Mayor’s schemes, Elliot and Maxine had found an instant connection. Elliot wasn’t sure he could have avoided falling for her if he had tried.

He carefully arranged his coat on the back of the chair and stepped around so that he was next to her. Elliot crouched so that he could look fully into her face (and also because he was feeling dizzy). He took her right hand, which had fallen into her lap, and softly shook her. She continued to doze.  
His hand rested on her hand, which was resting on her thigh. Her breath was coming as regularly before. Elliot, now having an almost out of body experience, watched himself reach up to brush a stray strand of hair away from her face and cupped her jaw.

Maxine, finally disturbed from her slumber, slowly blinked awake. As she came to, Elliot reflected on the unusual purple-grey of her eyes. She yawned and pulled herself upright and Elliot's hand brushed down her jaw, and his fingertips grazed her throat. His hand hovered in the air in front of his body before he recovered and stood upright, self-consciously.  
Maxine stretched and yawned, "I'm sorry, I was just going shut my eyes for a second. But it's been a long day— for you, too! You're home later than usual!" She was chattering good-naturedly as she tidied up his desk. He saw that she had been reading before she had fallen asleep; he found this frightfully endearing.

His sluggish brain realized that she was cleaning up because she was preparing to leave. His true impulse was to grab her by the wrist and pull her into an embrace, but even in this undone state, he wouldn't allow himself to indulge that much. He was a gentleman. Instead, he only reached out and touched her wrist, which was enough to stop her. Her sunkissed face turned up to him, her lips slightly parted in confusion.

"Elliot, are you ok? You look flushed. Do you have a fever?" She stepped closer to him, the hand that had reached for her wrist now hovering near her waist. Maxine reached up to test his temperature with the back of her hand.

"No, I—" as Elliot tried to explain himself, Maxine caught a whiff of the alcohol on his breath. Her face seemed to crack into a grin.

"You were having fun without me, I see! I was here drinking chamomile tea in your hermitage while you were out painting the town red!"

Elliot's love-drunk stupor lifted now that she was initiating their usual verbal back and forth, "If I had known you were in want of a night of debauchery, I would have happily escorted you."

"I don't think Pelican Town is ready for it. And you know me, the fewer people that witness my drunken shenanigans, the better."

"A more intimate affair? That, I can still arrange." Elliot backed into his bed and sat.

Maxine laughed and reached forward to steady him, resting her hand on his shoulder. Elliot pulled a wooden crate from under his bed. The clink of glass filled the silence between them.

"My, my, Elliot. What a rake you are!"

 

"Maxine, I am scandalized," Elliot laid a hand across his chest in mock-indignation.

"No, wait, wait, I haven't even gotten to the best part of the story!" When they first started drinking, Maxine had been perched on the edge of the bed while Elliot sat sideways in the desk chair. Now, many glasses of cinnamon whiskey later, they were both on the bed; Maxine was leaning against the footboard with legs crossed while Elliot sat opposite of her against the headboard, legs outstretched. Maxine was resting her mug (now with two fingers of whiskey in it instead of chamomile tea) on Elliot's shin to stabilize it while she gestured with her other hand.

"So, I'm standing there, a red solo cup of what I'm pretty sure was just vodka and orange Kool-Aid in one hand, a bottle of Kraken in the other, staring down the precariously unzipped astronaut costume of this frat boy," Elliot was laughing again, which sent Maxine into another fit of giggles. "Stop, stop laughing! I'm going to spill my drink!" Elliot put a hand over his mouth to try and stifle his laughter, but the bed continued to shake with their restrained giggling.

To resolve the dangerous situation, Maxine downed the last of her whiskey in one shot. She sputtered a little, "I can't believe you like this stuff."

"You, my dear Maxine, just admitted to drinking Kraken, but have the audacity to object to my freely proffered libations?"

Maxine rolled her eyes, "You know who drank cinnamon whiskey? Sixteen-year-old Maxine, because she thought it would make her look cool and grown up." Maxine crawled forward to grab his empty tea cup from the flat top of the headboard so that she could remove and breakables from the clumsy reach of the drunken pair. Elliot felt suddenly tense— he had relaxed considerably and shaken off the slack-jawed admiration from earlier, but her easy closeness had caught him off-guard.

Maxine pulled herself up onto her knees and considered the easiest way to get out of the bed without the use of her hands, which were holding the two cups aloft. She decided that the easiest route was over Elliot— to this end, she hoisted her left thigh over him. She looked down to say something witty but stopped.

Elliot had a wild, breathless look: his pupils were dilated, his jaw clenched, and his brow furrowed. Maxine, who had not been thinking clearly until this moment, realized that she was, essentially, straddling him.

Her entire face went pink—even her ears were burning.

She hurriedly put the mug and teacup on the headboard, "Sorry, sorry, you know I have no personal space, hold on—" she happened to glance back at his face and saw him chewing his lower lip. Elliot did this whenever he was thinking something over—Maxine doubted he even knew he was doing it. In this setting (and with her in his lap), she found it troubling and maybe even a little erotic.

She started to hoist her leg back over him to retreat to the other side of the bed and brush off this new, awkward development with a joke.

A warm hand on her upper-thigh stopped her again.

"Elliot?" She looked him fully in the face, trying to catch his eye.

He was looking down and to the right, and he answered in a gruff whisper, "Wait, I—" he stopped and exhaled heavily before turning his face to meet her gaze.

In that instant, Maxine leaned forward and captured his mouth in a kiss. She moved on instinct— when he turned to her, his face was full of unmasked want, and she just reacted to it. She and Elliot had always had a sort of running flirtation, but when he didn't act on it earlier in their friendship, Maxine had assumed that he wasn't interested and tried to stop reading into it. 

Elliot groaned into her mouth; the fingers of his left hand dug into Maxine's thigh while his right arm snaked up her back. Maxine wondered (with the distant part of her brain that wasn't currently occupied) if this was to give her back support or to keep his hands from wandering. Even his restraint turned her on—the thought of him wanting her so much that he felt like he had to hold back gave her butterflies.

Maxine lowered herself fully on to his lap and buried her hands in his hair. Chest to chest, she could feel the erratic drag of his breathing. She caught his lower lip in a playful nip, which was all the prompting Elliot needed to slip his tongue his tongue between her lips. His mouth tasted like cinnamon whiskey. Her skin was fevered even in the cool, salty air that permeated Elliot's cabin. Elliot's hand moved up her thigh and dragged up her body. He buried his fist in the fabric of her sweater, accidentally exposing a sliver of flesh along her side above her high-waisted jeans. She shivered at the sudden rush of air and the feeling of his knuckles brushing her side.

Maxine began to feel lightheaded—they had been kissing for so long that she could hear her heartbeat hammering in her ears. She broke the kiss to take a shuddering breath and sat there panting for a moment as she gathered her thoughts. Elliot, without hesitation, buried his face in the crook of her neck and began to trail kisses up her collarbone, to her ear, and then down again. Maxine's hands were still wound in Elliot's hair—she tensed when his breath tickled her ear.

"Is this... alright?" Elliot whispered, his lips just under her. She squirmed—she couldn't help it; her ears were so ticklish. His grip tightened, and she realized how hard he had become underneath her.

Her face flushed anew, but she swallowed thickly to say, "Elliot, I kissed you!" In astonishment.

Elliot smiled against her skin, "I know." His mouth and five-o-clock shadow moved against her ear and Maxine made a noise somewhere between a yelp and a moan. Elliot pulled away.

"I-I'm ticklish!" Maxine said defensively, which was a mistake.

Elliot grinned, "Is that right?"

"Oh, no. No, no, no. Please, Elliot, mercy!"

"Too late for mercy, Maxine." Elliot proceeded to redouble his attention to her neck and nibbling her ear. Maxine cried out before dissolving into breathless laughter.

She wriggled out of his hold and fell backwards on to the bed, breathless from laughing so hard. Elliot, not ready to let her escape, followed her down, but before he could return to torturing her, Maxine reached up to cup his jaw and drag his mouth to hers for another kiss.

It worked—Elliot was thoroughly occupied with kissing her. Their first kiss had been a rush of feeling, like a dam breaking; it had been hungry and tentative and fast all at once. This kiss was slower and deeper. Elliot took control and was taking his time exploring her. Maxine's legs spread instinctively to make room for him as he settled against her. He supported his weight on one arm to leave his other hand free to graze her side as they kissed.

Needing to come up for air again but afraid of Elliot tickling her neck, Maxine pulled him closer to give his neck some attention.

Elliot quickly realized that Maxine did not shy away from using her teeth—she suckled his pulse point and licked it to soothe the sore spot before moving downwards but found herself struggling with his shirt collar. A growl caught in his throat. His hand, which had been tentatively exploring underneath her sweater, pulled away as he sat back with the intention to take off his shirt.

Elliot looked down at Maxine. She was pressed into the down comforter, her short dark hair framing her face against the sea of white. Her grey sweater had been pushed up so that he could see her exposed stomach and the edge of a black bra. Her breathing was heavy and her lips pink and kiss-bruised.

The way ahead seemed clear to Elliot: they would undress each other and fall into lovemaking and then fall asleep in each other's arms. But then, a wash of shame came over him.

He dragged a hand across his face, "We... shouldn't," he said haltingly.

Maxine roused and propped herself on her elbows.

"We are both... heavily inebriated and that... is problematic," he started. Maxine was still clouded by arousal but recognized with grim resignation that he was right. Elliot buried his face in his hands to cover his deep blush.

"Elliot?"

Through his hands he added, "I also... wanted to court you properly."

Maxine fell back onto the bed and laughed—genuine, feel good laughter. Elliot smiled and untangled himself from her so that he could fall into bed next to her. Slowly, he felt his pulse slow and his blood cool.

Maxine turned her head to the side to look at him, "So, where should we have our first date?"

Elliot reached for her hand and pulled it to his lips for one chaste kiss and grinned at the beautiful women laying in his bed.


	2. basil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, all! Sorry for the delay, I've been out of town and also a little stuck--because this story was literally just a daydream I decided to post, there's not exactly any... conflict yet, which we'll have to find somewhere along the way! Because that's... how you write stories. This chapter is a little short. Which is hilarious because I have published short stories shorter than this. Also, I've started a few other stories with other characters (because everyone in the Valley is my fuckign gi>rlfreingd) but if there's someone you're dying to read first, drop me a comment or find me at poppyrocks.tumblr.com and I'll try and prioritize your faves! Also, thank you for your nice comments and kudos! I see you. I love you.  
> This chapter wins the award for "most exposition during masturbation scene" ever and is brought to you by my own reminiscing about foods that I ate in college (from which I graduated like... three months ago and I'm about to be a dirt poor grad student soon so I should probably let that shit go) and a lack of restraint when it comes to adverbs. I'm sorry. I know I'm not supposed to abuse them. Tags updated appropriately!

Maxine slipped out and closed the door behind her. Willy was already awake and fishing, but if he thought her presence was odd, he didn't show it. He tipped his hat to her and she waved, trying her best not to look guilty. A faint drizzle began to patter against the sand. Maxine sighed in relief—a little rain would mean that she could just check in on the animals and pass out. She had spent the day before planting, and this was her reward for starting the season right.

She hurried back to Manderley to avoid getting caught in the oncoming storm. The cows and chickens didn't even know that she had been missing. Cygnus had to be shooed away from the incubator so that Maxine could check the eggs in it, but it was business as usual. She gathered eggs, milked the cows, checked the beehives, and then dragged her feet into the farmhouse. She didn't even make it to her bed—she collapsed on the couch and fell asleep to the sound of rain showering the Valley.

* * *

 

Elliot woke up around midmorning and stripped his clothes off before crawling back into bed. He slept for a few more hours before coming to, bleary and hungover. He took a moment to recount yesterday's events—he had spent the morning writing, then took a break to watch the ocean. He had met Leah at the Saloon, come home and... Maxine.  
Images and sensations tinged with a cinnamon flavor hit him all at once: the honey smell of her skin, the weight of her pressed against him, her hands wound in his hair, the way her lips had looked after he had thoroughly kissed them.

He groaned. His cock had immediately stiffened. It was embarrassing—he felt like a teenager again. He got out of bed, took a painkiller to try and stave off the oncoming hangover headache, and started to get dressed.

He was pointedly ignoring his erection, but it throbbed insistently. He sank back onto his bed and groaned. It wasn't his arousal that was so frustrating—what was frustrating was his lack of control when it came to Maxine. He had always been a man with complete self-restraint; he spent years cultivating a certain meditative mindfulness. He was always conscientious of the effect of his behavior on others and how they viewed him. He was polite and self-possessed. He would have even considered himself a disciplined person, dedicated to a strict code of conduct and daily routine.  
But Maxine undid him. The process had been so slow that he had barely noticed it until their simmering attraction had come to a boil the night before. And now he was lying in bed, hard and desperate, a testament to his weakness.

He found himself recalling moments that had, at the time, seemed innocent enough, but now had adopted an intoxicating new atmosphere. He remembered last year's Flower Dance—Maxine's first ever. She had worn a fern green and white striped sundress and, he had detected with a certain amount of surprise, a touch of makeup.

Mayor Lewis had asked her none-too-discreetly, "Will you be asking anyone to dance with you this year?" And Maxine had glanced over at Elliot with a grin that had made him feel like they were sharing some inside joke, that he was her special conspirator. She did not dance with anyone that year, and had mostly kept to herself, greeting people politely and steering clear of the dancers. She had been an elegant and charming wallflower—except when Elliot finally approached her, and she had pulled him into a quick four-step before confessing that she was leaving early to finish some chores. Elliot recalled the palm of his hand pressed neatly, instinctively, against the plane of her back and the fleeting realization that she might have wanted to dance after all.

His brain fast-forwarded to an unseasonably warm Fall afternoon. He was taking a stroll through the woods when he had decided to walk to Manderley and return a book that Maxine had lent him. Upon passing through the copse of trees that separated her farm from the woods, Elliot had found her dozing softly beneath a maple tree with her cat curled against the curve of her side. A bottle of blackberry wine was nestled in the dirt and a book was still half-open in her hand. Elliot's current scrambled state of mind also recalled the shorts she was wearing, which had revealed her tanned legs and muscular thighs as well as the litany of yellow-green bruises and fresh scabs; he even imagined he could remember the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed peacefully, despite the fact that he had stood there at the entrance to Manderley for a few seconds at most. He had quietly placed the book near her hand and given her cat, Oates, a scratch around the ears before retreating from the idyllic scene, the thought of her blackberry-stained lips very much on his mind.

This thought about her mouth brought forth a new tidal wave of imaginings, some remembered and some daydreamed. Elliot came into his hand with a sudden gasp. He sat there for a moment panting and gathering his wits. He felt relieved but also embarrassed and a little dirty. He stood up and gathered some of his things—he supposed that a bath might make him feel a little less sleazy. He frequented the local spa; his cabin was fairly comfortable—except for its lack of hot water. He also slipped the book that Maxine had been reading the night before under his arm with the dim hope that it might give him a reason to see her.

* * *

 

Maxine slept through the day. When she woke, the last cringe of sunlight was weakly protesting the heavy fall of twilight, which was dark and smelled of damp earth. She pulled herself up from the yellow couch (a recent purchase from Robin who had been horrified at her lack of furniture and had helped to carry the matching armchair to Manderley herself) and wiped a hand over her mouth in case she had drooled in her sleep.

She sat up slowly and took in her surroundings, her eyes and brain still sluggish from sleep; the living room was dark, and Oates was curled up by her feet. She groaned and fell back into the couch—sleeping all day was a great way to make the next morning utterly miserable. Farm life had mostly transformed her from night owl into early bird, but she was always one slip up away from becoming a functional insomniac.

She slid off of the couch (taking care not to wake Oates) and stalked off to change into something more comfortable than jeans. She shimmied into a pair of yoga pants and the biggest t-shirt she could find (Zuzu University). Her stomach growled loudly in the silence of the farmhouse.  
That made her next course of action clear: hangover meal time. Rubbing her eyes, she made her way to the fridge to consider her options. Living on a farm meant that she had an abundance of fresh ingredients, but she did sometimes miss the cheap, pre-fab meals of her school years. She thought wistfully of microwave spaghetti and frozen pizza—perfect hangover food.

But those years were gone, so, like a real adult with a hangover, she resolved to make some stir fry. She rummaged through the fridge, remembered that she had basil growing in a container on the porch, and turned to go out the door.

* * *

 

Elliot found himself standing on Maxine's front step. He hadn't really intended to come to the door—by the time he finished with his bath, his courage had waned, and he thought he might drop the book off in her mailbox instead of speaking to her. Maxine was lovingly referred to by the residents of Pelican Town as the local hermit; she had only opened her home to guests once, to celebrate a recent remodel of the old farm house. And Elliot suspected that had only happened at Robin's insistence.  
He stood in front of her door chewing his bottom lip in thought. His hair was still wet from the bath, so he had tied it back into a bun to keep it from dripping down his back. He felt under-dressed for another encounter with Maxine; usually when he saw her he was completely dressed, but he had only brought a t-shirt and jeans with him to the bathhouse. He hadn't expected to feel so naked once he reached her door.

He raised his hand to knock but chickened out all at once. Just as he resolved to leave, the door swung open.

"Elliot!"

"Maxine!" Elliot said almost simultaneously—his face went hot and his stomach flipped at the sight of her. Of course she would catch him standing on her porch. It was just his luck.

As the initial surprise wore of, Maxine's body relaxed; her hip leaned against the doorframe and her arms crossed softly over her chest.

Her chin dipped down and to the left, and she looked up at him slyly through her lashes, "Hi."

"Hello," Elliott felt like all of the breath had been pressed out of his lungs.

"Long time no see—miss me?"

Elliot mustered his most charming smile, "Every moment not spent with you is a missed opportunity," he was gratified to see the cat-who-got-into-the-cream expression drop from her face but lost his flirtatious momentum when he realized that her blush seemed to radiate from the base of her throat (which he imagined pressing his lips to before shaking his head to dismiss the thought).

"I, um, I noticed that you were reading _Tropic of Cancer_ last night and thought that I... might drop it off. For you. So that you can continue reading."

"That's... thoughtful of you," she replied, managing to look skeptical and embarrassed all at once.

"And I wanted to see you," he confessed, feeling brave.

"Well," Maxine grinned, "I was just about to make dinner. And I can't send you home like that," she gestured to his wet hair, "or you'll catch a cold."

She grabbed his hand and ushered him inside.

"Hold on, I'll grab you a towel—did you get caught in the rain?"

"No, I was availing myself of the bathhouse facilities."

Maxine disappeared to another room and Elliot could hear her rummaging for something. A second later she returned with a white towel. Elliot started to take his hair down with one hand and held the other out to accept the towel.

Suddenly, his vision went white. He felt Maxine standing in front of him as he felt himself pushed back in to the chair by the door before she started rubbing his hair down with the towel.

"Maxine—" he broke off as he tried to stifle a laugh. He couldn't see her but tried to reach up and grab her wrists. Her hands shifted to the back of his head, which finally pulled the towel from over his eyes. He hooked his thumb and forefinger around her wrist and pulled her hand down between them, pulling Maxine a step forward between his parted thighs. She kept the towel from falling to the floor by keeping her free hand pressed against the nape of his neck.

Maxine though about how easy it would be to lean forward and kiss him. But she remembered yesterday, his embarrassed admission that he wanted to court her properly (which seemed like another way of saying he'd like to take things slow).

Elliot thought for a moment that she was just going to press forward and lock lips with him—there was some barely restrained tension in her body that made him lean slightly forward towards her and unconsciously part his lips.

Instead, she said, "You look starved—stir fry okay?"


End file.
